Some Questions for Mary (a Steve Orr Nativity reflection)

I think we’ve all wondered at some time about the growing up years of Jesus. I certainly have. I would love to visit with Mary and Joseph and ask a few questions about their life around the Nativity.  Consider, for example, "25 Questions for Mary" from Max Lucado's "God Came Near." Some are serious, some a little facetious; each intended to be thought-provoking. My favorite: "Did you ever think, That’s God eating my soup?" 

But, before we ask any questions of our own, let’s take a few minutes and focus in on the twelve months leading up to and just following the birth of Jesus: Angelic visitations/dreams, nine months of pregnancy, journey to Bethlehem (while pregnant), the Census, farm animals, smelly shepherds, foreigner magicians, their first Sabbath as parents, eighth day circumcision of Jesus, and then a trip to Jerusalem.

That’s a lot. 

The December 27th scripture selections include the passage from Luke 2 where Jesus is presented at the Temple, in Jerusalem, as required by the Law. There, the new little family is met by two old people who have been waiting for God’s deliverance of His people. Apparently, based on the Holy Spirit-infused messaging, they had been waiting for Mary and Joseph‘s little baby. 

That’s a lot. Overwhelming, really. 

So, my question for Mary and Joseph is a multi-part one: Did your families help out? Did the women offer guidance on motherhood? Did the men offer guidance on fatherhood? Did anyone offer to change diapers? Did anybody step up, step in, and help you shoulder your new roles in life?

Hopefully, someone asked Mary and Joseph that most important question we should always ask new parents ... and, anyone, really: “How can I help?”

_________________________

GRAPHIC: Steve Orr via Adobe Spark

_________________________

There’s no official gathering, this Friday, of DaySpring’s Lectionary Breakfast. We wish you a very Merry Christmas! You have a choice of three different Christmas readings, this time, along with a group for the first Sunday after Christmas ... Or, you might read one group each day leading up to Sunday. Find links to them all on this table: 

https://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu//lections.php?year=B&season=Christmas

Enjoy!

Steve

SCRIPTURES FOR THE COMING WEEK

Nativity of the Lord - Proper I (December 24, 2020)

• Isaiah 9:2-7
• Psalm 96
• Titus 2:11-14
• Luke 2:1-14, (15-20)

Nativity of the Lord - Proper II (December 24, 2020)

• Isaiah 62:6-12
• Psalm 97
• Titus 3:4-7
• Luke 2:(1-7), 8-20

Nativity of the Lord - Proper III (December 24, 2020)

• Isaiah 52:7-10
• Psalm 98
• Hebrews 1:1-4, (5-12)
• John 1:1-14

First Sunday after Christmas (December 27, 2020)

• Isaiah 61:10-62
• Psalm 148
• Galatians 4:4-7
• Luke 2:22-40

_________________________

Getting It Wrong in English Class (a Steve Orr scripture reflection)

I got it wrong just about every way I could. 

The assignment was straight forward: write a few paragraphs on anything to do with Christmas. We could have written about presents, shopping, Santa Claus, family traditions, even religious themes ... literally anything. There were no limits.

That should have been easy; and I guess it was for my classmates. All about me, I could see them bending their ink pens to the task. That’s what I should have been doing. But I had a problem: writer’s block. 

Have you had that experience? You have to write something, yet your brain is just ... blank. It’s one of those “deer in the headlights” moments we all hope to avoid in this life. Luckily, there are things to try, actions that might break through the block. One of the best is to try going in a different direction. 

So ... I tried writing a poem. 

It’s been a really long time, but I can still quote the poem I wrote in Mrs. Rudolph’s English class, that day: 

THE TIRED TRAVELERS 

By Steve Orr

As the travelers journeyed across the land,

One would ride and one would stand.

One was weak and one was strong,

As they traveled the land that seemed so long.

In the village they asked for a place to sleep,

Something to drink, and something to eat.

“The rooms are filled!”

The innkeeper said,

But the night became so still,

. . . And dead,

He gave them the stable to lay their heads

And use of the straw to make their beds.

He would never know that in this place

Wise men would stand in a crowded space,

Then kneel and pray on the desert sand

To the Son of David and Savior of Man.

Not only did Mrs. Rudolph let me get away with not writing paragraphs, she had me read the poem to the rest of the class. She gave me an “A.” It’s a really great memory. 

I now know I got almost all of it wrong.

Anyone who has become a parent knows that a pregnant woman is not weak. It is unlikely they were turned away from what we think of as an inn; more likely the already full guest room in a relative's house. The Gospel of Luke uses the same Greek word for “Inn” 20 chapters later to refer to the upper room where Jesus and His disciples shared the Passover meal.  

And the Innkeeper?  Fiction.

Jesus was laid in a manger, but that manger was almost certainly not in a stable . . . or a barn . . . or a cave. It was common practice to keep the animals on the lower floor of the house at night, safe from the elements and thieves. The living quarters, and sleeping areas, were on the upper floor. Mary and Joseph likely passed the night among the livestock on the ground floor of the house.

I blew it with the wise men, too. The Biblical account makes it clear that the wise men came much later; certainly not that night. And, it is quite clear that, when they did come, they met with Mary in a house; not in a stable . . . or a barn . . . or a cave

No, the Bible says the night visitors that first night were shepherds who had been in the fields watching over their flocks. And that brings me to "the desert sand." Wrong. The shepherds had been tending their sheep out in a field; a field where sheep grazed ... on growing things. The desert sands were far away.

I grew up among followers of Jesus. I was surrounded by Bibles. We met three times a week for instruction in the scriptures. And I still got it wrong. Is it any wonder that Jesus' contemporaries sometimes misunderstood? We have the comfort of picturing it through the writings of the New Testament, something that didn't exist when Jesus was born. 

But, really, it doesn’t matter if I got it wrong. It doesn’t really matter that we can’t know exactly what happened, then. None of that matters. What matters is that, just as it was back then, God responds to our misunderstandings with gentle and implacable instruction. In that sense, we are all on a journey, a spiritual journey, wending our way across the landscape, slowly accumulating a better understanding than we had before. It can take years, decades even. 

We persevere, though, even when we, ourselves, are the tired travelers. Because, what really matters is that God continues to draw us closer to His son.

_________________________

PHOTO CREDIT: Noble Park, Paducah, KY by Carrole Casey Vaught

Different versions of this reflection appeared in prior years. 

_________________________

SCRIPTURES FOR THE COMING WEEK

Find them here: 

https://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu//texts.php?id=51

2 Samuel 7:1-11, 16

Luke 1:46b-55 or Psalm 89:1-4, 19-26

Romans 16:25-27

Luke 1:26-38

Fourth Sunday of Advent (December 11, 2020)

Friday morning is when DaySpring’s Lectionary Breakfast meets. Join us at 8:00 for our usual hour of Bible, discussion, and laughter. 

Contact me if you want to attend. I’ll send you the Zoom link and alert out gatekeeper to let you in. 

NOTE: Zoom allows you to mute the camera if you don’t wish to be seen and to mute the microphone if you don’t wish to speak. 

Advent and Hemingway’s Bar Bet (a Steve Orr Advent reflection)

To settle a bar bet, Ernest Hemingway wrote a short story on a napkin ... supposedly. 

Maybe that’s true, and maybe it’s not. Here’s the tale: the bet was that Hemingway, known for his brevity in writing, could not write a compelling story in just six words. After a brief reflection, the author penned: “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.”

Poignant; heartbreaking even. 

The thoughts and images that flood our minds when we read Hemingway’s mini novel are, if not identical, certainly similar. We know about baby shoes. We understand what he means by “for sale.” And we can easily surmise the kinds of events that might lead to “never worn” ... all because we have a shared understanding of what those things might be.

I first came across Hemingway’s six-word novel in a wonderful little book titled, “Not Quite What I Was Planning." The folks at Smith Magazine collected six-word memoirs from people all across the globe.

These short summaries include the humorous ("Catholic girl. Jersey. It's all true,”), comedian Tracey Morgan's self-description ("At the end of normal street"), and Janelle Brown's confession ("My second grade teacher was right"). There are commentaries on life ("It's like forever, only much shorter") and on life’s absurdities ("Time to start over again, again"). There is bathos ("We were our own Springer episode") and pathos ("I still make coffee for two"). 

In reading this week's Lectionary passages, I saw that some of those could be distilled into excellent six-word memoirs. Here are my attempts: From Psalm 126, "Sowed in tears, reaped with joy" or (from Isaiah 61) "Gave a garland instead of ashes.” From Luke, "Filled the hungry with good things" and "My spirit rejoices; God my savior." Thessalonians yielded “Gives thanks in all circumstances; still.” And from John, "Came to testify to the light.”

The first week of Advent was about orientation (looking back and owning our true history, while looking forward in hope of salvation). Week two was about pausing (practicing patience while we wait upon the Lord). 

This third week of Advent is about declaration (proclaiming, to all who will hear, the imminent arrival of the Messiah, the Christ, the “light”). We can proclaim the immediacy of a savior who has come and is coming again because we know that deep inside of all humankind is the same expectation. 

It is our shared understanding ... just waiting to hear that good news. 

_________________________

PHOTO: Steve Orr

Different versions of this reflection appeared in prior years.

_________________________

SCRIPTURES FOR THE COMING WEEK

Find them here: 

https://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu//texts.php?id=50

Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11

Psalm 126 or Luke 1:46b-55

1 Thessalonians 5:16-24 

John 1:6-8, 19-28

Third Sunday of Advent (December 13, 2020)

_________________________

Friday mornings are a special time for us. We gather on Zoom for DaySpring’s Lectionary Breakfast. It’s a time of prayer and scripture, and, yes: orientation, pause, and declaration. Join with us at 8:00 for all of that plus a surprising amount of laughter (BYOB*)

NOTE: Zoom allows you to mute the camera if you don’t wish to be seen and to mute the microphone if you don’t wish to speak. 

Contact me if you want to attend. I’ll send you the Zoom link and alert out gatekeeper to let you in. 

Blessings,

Steve

*Bring Your Own Breakfast 

An Unfinished Christmas (a Steve Orr Advent reflection)

It was a Christmas we would never forget. 

 I was no older than the first grade. The most enduring memory of that season? When we went for our annual Christmas shopping night in downtown. My hometown (Paducah, Kentucky) is located at the confluence of two rivers: the Ohio and the Tennessee. That makes the winter crosswinds in downtown positively icy. Undoubtedly the coldest corner was Fourth and Broadway, the location of the Paducah Dry Goods store (a twin of the department store in A Christmas Story). 

Cold air funneled up from those rivers to chill us as Dad dropped the three of us off at the store. He, then, parked the car a few blocks away and rejoined us inside. My parents forced us to endure shopping on each floor, in turn; making our way with agonizing slowness toward all that really mattered:” the Fourth floor, location of toys and home of Santa’s red velvet throne. 

The highlight of this christmastime memory is sitting on Santa’s lap and telling him something —though I can’t recall what— and realizing that his beard was real. That beard convinced me he was the real thing.

Eventually, my parents bundled us up and moved us down four floors and to the front of the store. Things get a little hazy after that. I have a vibrant memory of my mother holding my hand as the three of us stood at the curb waiting for Dad to return with the car, pick us up, and drive us home. We waited, and waited ... and waited. 

Dad never returned that night. 

And in my memory, that is the end: the three of us standing there, getting colder ... watching, waiting, wondering. 

 ...an unfinished Christmas. 

 _________________________ 

Of course, there is more to this memoir. But, what if there wasn’t? What if that was all we could ever know? How strange to know there must be more, but be unable to know how things turned out. 

It was my daughter who first suggested that this memoir, with all the waiting and watching, would make a great Advent reflection ... and I agree. It fits well with this week’s 2nd Peter selection with it’s emphasis on waiting, patience, and the timeless aspect of our relationship with God. 

We’ve been waiting on God all these centuries, ever since Jesus came to us in human form ... while at the same time, God has been waiting on us. Yes, that’s right. Peter reminds us that while we’ve been patiently waiting on God to return, God has been patiently waiting until more of us are ready for that return. It’s the story of a Christmas that had its beginning over 2,000 years ago and has remained open all this time ... waiting on us. 

An unfinished Christmas, indeed. 

 _________________________ 

For the rest of the story, the fuller version of my Christmas memories can be read at: http://steveorr.blogspot.com/search/label/02Memoir-An%20Unfinished%20Christmas?m=0 

If you are on my blog, see the list on the right side of the screen. Click on: 02Memoir-An Unfinished Christmas.

Photo Credit: (downtown Paducah Christmas lights) www.photonews247.com 

_________________________ 

DaySpring’s Lectionary Breakfast continues via Zoom on Friday morning. Join us at 8:00 for a unique hour of Bible, discussion, and laughter. Bring your own breakfast beverage. 

NOTE: Zoom allows you to mute the camera if you don’t wish to be seen and mute the microphone if you don’t wish to be heard. Contact me if you want to attend. I’ll send you the Zoom link and alert our gatekeeper to let you in. 

Blessings, Steve 

SCRIPTURES FOR THE COMING

Find them here: 

https://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu//texts.phdp?id=49

Isaiah 40:1-11 

Psalm 85:1-2. 8-13 

2Peter 3:8-15a (try reading this in The Message) 

Mark 1:1-8 

Second Sunday of Advent (December 6, 2020)

Thanksgiving at Memmie’s Farm (by Steve Orr ... inspired by Deuteronomy 8:7-18)

We woke up excited. 

Today, we knew, would be different. Our usual days were simple. We lived in a tiny house, on a busy corner, in an unzoned neighborhood. I don’t mean to imply we were poor; just that there were no frills in our day-to-day lives. Money went for necessities; there wasn’t any extra. And in this, we weren’t that different from our relatives. Some had a little more; some a little less. But for all of us, Thanksgiving was a day of plenty. Likely, all the children in all their houses were waking up just like us: energized and ready to go.

First, it was the start of a four-day weekend; no school and, usually, no homework. Second, or maybe this should’ve been first, we were going to Memmie’s! It’s not like we never went to Memmie’s. It just that Thanksgiving at Memmie’s farm was always special. Other visits usually involved doing chores or helping out in some way —there was always something that needed fixing, feeding, planting, harvesting, painting, moved, or mowed— after all, Memmie, who was Mama’s grandmother, was quite elderly. But we knew not to bring that up. It was a sore spot: Memmie living out there all by herself. Or as good as; Aunt Lucy, younger but frailer, was almost no help. That’s what the grownups said when they were sure neither of the sisters could hear. Besides, Lucy lived out back in the little house, also alone. How much help could she be if Memmie needed someone in the night?

None of that was on our minds that Thanksgiving morning, as we dressed for cool weather and helped load side dishes into the backseat of our car. Dad, then, pulled down the station wagon’s tailgate, and we piled pillows and blankets into the cargo space ... and the two of us climbed in with them. Once Dad closed us in, we formed pillows and blankets into makeshift seats. A big part of the fun on that journey was riding backwards and looking out the rear window. It was a special treat on a special day. 

Memmie’s farm was one town over and out in the country. It seemed a long drive to us kids. We were encouraged to keep ourselves occupied with I Spy and spotting out-of-state license plates. We also watched for the Burma Shave signs; reading them backwards was a sure bet to send us into giggles. 

Our biggest hope was that we weren’t the first ones to arrive: that meant we had to “help out” instead of play. Better to be second, or even third. That way, the number of cousins reached the critical mass where parents wanted us out from under foot. Soon enough, we made enough racket that some grownup shouted, “No horseplay in the house!” This, of course, was shortly followed by the phrase we longed to hear: “You kids go outside!”

Outside was cold, but we were all dressed for it. Besides, in no time, we were playing tag, climbing trees, running back to see the chickens, or grinding seed corn in the crib. Cold? What cold? We kept up these kinds of things until, magically, it was time for lunch. My grandmother would step out on the big, raised front porch and call, “Dinnn-ER!

And the stampede began. 

We all ate until we were full ... and then we ate some more. There was, of course, Turkey; a huge thing, with lots of jostling to see who could get one of the giant drumsticks, usually two of the older kids. We didn’t stuff our turkeys; we ate pan-roasted dressing with giblet gravy. There were always other meats, as well; baked ham, fried chicken. As big as that turkey was, it couldn’t stretch to feed our whole tribe. Side dishes included cranberry salad and cranberry sauce, sweet potato casserole, green bean casserole, mashed potatoes, creamed corn, deviled eggs, three-bean salad, hot biscuits, “regular” green beans (fork tender), corn-on-the-cob, and fruit salad. Plus, there were always a few surprise dishes from the more adventurous cooks. 

Then, after trying to eat at least a little of everything, we, somehow, crammed in some dessert. Pecan pie was the king of the day, but its court included pumpkin, apple, and cherry pies; plus various cream pies (with meringue piled high), and even some cakes. And, if I was lucky, someone brought a chess pie. There were a limited number of these desserts; so, you really couldn’t sample them all. We had to set priorities and go for those if we wanted to eat what tickled our palate.

In the afternoon, we all drifted into the living room where Memmie’s pot bellied, coal burning stove held pride of place. It was way too hot for us kids in the middle of that room —plenty warm enough on the edges— so we steered clear of it unless pressed into coal loading service. Eventually, though, the lethargy of our meal began to wear off and we were once again herded outside to “run it off.” As the sun began to move down the western sky, we started to actually notice the falling temps. This was nowhere more noticeable than when we had to visit the outhouse; now, that was cold! But, at least everyone, young or old, had to make the same trek for the same reasons.

Finally, dusk crept into our day and it was time for leftovers. We streamed to the big table in the kitchen, but not with quite the gusto of lunch. We had, in fact, run off the earlier meal, but we were starting the return to our usual lives; sandwiches were enough for that supper. As darkness arrived, we were all pressed into service for the cleanup. Extra tables and chairs were loaded into car trunks, as were a portion of the leftovers; everyone left with lots of food regardless how little or much they brought.

The two of us rejoined our backward-facing nest for the trip home; but with little to see at night, we soon fell asleep in the back of the station wagon, nestled among our blankets and pillows. My final memory of the day was of rousing a tiny bit as I was being carried from the car to the bed, feeling warmed, and filled, and loved.

Thanksgiving at Memmie’s Farm (by Steve Orr)

We woke up excited. 

Today, we knew, would be different. Our usual days were simple. We lived in a tiny house, on a busy corner, in an unzoned neighborhood. I don’t mean to imply we were poor; just that there were no frills in our day-to-day lives. Money went for necessities; there wasn’t any extra. And in this, we weren’t that different from our relatives. Some had a little more; some a little less. But for all of us, Thanksgiving was a day of plenty. Likely, all the children in all their houses were waking up just like us: energized and ready to go.

First, it was the start of a four-day weekend; no school and, usually, no homework. Second, or maybe this should’ve been first, we were goingg to Memmie’s! It’s not like we never went to Memmie’s. It just that Thanksgiving at Memmie’s farm was always special. Other visits usually involved doing chores or helping out in some way —there was always something that needed fixing, feeding, planting, harvesting, painting, moved, or mowed— after all, Memmie, who was Mama’s grandmother, was quite elderly. But we knew not to bring that up. It was a sore spot: Memmie living out there all by herself. Or as good as; Aunt Lucy, younger but frailer, was almost no help. That’s what the grownups said when they were sure neither of the sisters could hear. Besides, Lucy lived out back in the little house, also alone. How much help could she be if Memmie needed someone in the night?

None of that was on our minds that Thanksgiving morning, as we dressed for cool weather and helped load side dishes into the backseat of our car. Dad, then, pulled down the station wagon’s tailgate, and we piled pillows and blankets into the cargo space ... and the two of us climbed in with them. Once Dad closed us in, we formed pillows and blankets into makeshift seats. A big part of the fun on that journey was riding backwards and looking out the rear window. It was a special treat on a special day. 

Memmie’s farm was one town over and out in the country. It seemed a long drive to us kids. We were encouraged to keep ourselves occupied with I Spy and spotting out-of-state license plates. We also watched for the Burma Shave signs; reading them backwards was a sure bet to send us into giggles. 

Our biggest hope was that we weren’t the first ones to arrive: that meant we had to “help out” instead of play. Better to be second, or even third. That way, the number of cousins reached the critical mass where parents wanted us out from under foot. Soon enough, we made enough racket that some grownup shouted, “No horseplay in the house!” This, of course, was shortly followed by the phrase we longed to hear: “You kids go outside!”

Outside was cold, but we were all dressed for it. Besides, in no time, we were playing tag, climbing trees, running back to see the chickens, or grinding seed corn in the crib. Cold? What cold? We kept up these kinds of things until, magically, it was time for lunch. My grandmother would step out on the big, raised front porch and call, “Dinnn-ER!

And the stampede began. 

We all ate until we were full ... and then we ate some more. There was, of course, Turkey; a huge thing, with lots of jostling to see who could get one of the giant drumsticks, usually two of the older kids. We didn’t stuff our turkeys; we ate pan-roasted dressing with giblet gravy. There were always other meats, as well; baked ham, fried chicken. As big as that turkey was, it couldn’t stretch to feed our whole tribe. Side dishes included cranberry salad and cranberry sauce, sweet potato casserole, green bean casserole, mashed potatoes, creamed corn, deviled eggs, three-bean salad, hot biscuits, “regular” green beans (fork tender), corn-on-the-cob, and fruit salad. Plus, there were always a few surprise dishes from the more adventurous cooks. 

Then, after trying to eat at least a little of everything, we, somehow, crammed in some dessert. Pecan pie was the king of the day, but its court included pumpkin, apple, and cherry pies; plus various cream pies (with meringue piled high), and even some cakes. And, if I was lucky, someone brought a chess pie. There were a limited number of these desserts; so, you really couldn’t sample them all. We had to set priorities and go for those if we wanted to eat what tickled our palate.

In the afternoon, we all drifted into the living room where Memmie’s pot bellied, coal burning stove held pride of place. It was way too hot for us kids in the middle of that room —plenty warm enough on the edges— so we steered clear of it unless pressed into coal loading service. Eventually, though, the lethargy of our meal began to wear off and we were once again herded outside to “run it off.” As the sun began to move down the western sky, we started to actually notice the falling temps. This was nowhere more noticeable than when we had to visit the outhouse; now, that was cold! But, at least everyone, young or old, had to make the same trek for the same reasons.

Finally, dusk crept into our day and it was time for leftovers. We streamed to the big table in the kitchen, but not with quite the gusto of lunch. We had, in fact, run off the earlier meal, but we were starting the return to our usual lives; sandwiches were enough for that supper. As darkness arrived, we were all pressed into service for the cleanup. Extra tables and chairs were loaded into car trunks, as were a portion of the leftovers; everyone left with lots of food regardless how little or much they brought.

The two of us rejoined our backward-facing nest for the trip home; but with little to see at night, we soon fell asleep in the back of the station wagon, nestled among our blankets and pillows. My final memory of the day was of rousing a tiny bit as I was being carried from the car to the bed, feeling warmed, and filled, and loved.

_________________________

PHOTO: Steve Orr

Warm wishes to you and yours as we pause to give thanks. The reflection is inspired by this week’s Thanksgiving scriptures, particularly the Deuteronomy passage. DaySpring isn’t hosting a Lectionary Breakfast, this week. Enjoy your holiday and join us the first Friday in December.

Blessings,

Steve

SCRIPTURES FOR THANKSGIVING DAY

Thanksgiving Day, USA (November 26, 2020)

Read them here: https://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu//texts.php?id=171

Deuteronomy 8:7-18

Psalm 65

2 Corinthians 9:6-15

Luke 17:11-19

SCRIPTURES FOR THE FIRST WEEK OF ADVENT

First Sunday of Advent (November 29, 2020)

Read them Here: https://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu/texts.php?id=48

Isaiah 64:1-9

Psalm 80:1-7, 17-19

1 Corinthians 1:3-9

Mark 13:24-37

Space-X and the Space Station Boogie (a Steve Orr scripture reflection)

Like the steps of a complex dance.

Space-X just made big news by launching NASA astronauts toward a rendezvous with the International Space Station. It’s the first, official time a commercial enterprise has ferried astronauts to the orbiting platform. It’s a big deal ... and a big change in how the USA goes to space. 

But some things don’t change.

Every rocket launching for the International Space Station (ISS), whether it belongs to a country or to a company, must do one thing, and must do it exactly right: dock.

When a craft needs to dock with the ISS, there has always been a strict procedure to which it must adhere.

1.  Launch ... orbit for days
2. Arrive at start position ... wait
3. Get permission to advance
4. Advance about 50 yards ... wait 
5. Use nose and tail rockets to alter pitch and yaw
6. Wait for permission to advance 
7. Maneuver within about 33 feet of ISS
8. Wait for permission to advance 
9. Proceed about 2 inches per second toward ISS
10. Dock
11. Wait 2 hours to match pressures
12. Enter ISS

It was a long and complicated process, made even longer by the fact that fresh permissions must be obtained at multiple points before proceeding. 

I think most of us believe getting to God works this way: full speed toward God; stop and wait; get more permissions; slow our approach; stop again; get even more permissions. And then, right when we think we have finally made it, jumped through all the hoops ... we, again, have to wait.

We think we’re like the rocket, doing all the work to connect with God. We see God like the ISS, floating majestically out in space, just awaiting our approach. At one time it certainly seemed like that. There were priests, sacrifices, and rituals through which people had to pass before they could connect to God.

But, the old way of docking with the International Space Station no longer applies. Instead of several days, advances in technology allowed SpaceX to take those astronauts from launchpad to docking in less that 30 hours. 

And, God is not waiting for us to execute a painstaking series of maneuvers in order to approach him. He is searching for us, looking down the road, ready to run to us at first sighting. That is the spirit of this week's Ezekiel and Psalm 95 selections, as well as many other Bible passages. 

So, start your approach ... God will take care of the docking.

_________________________

Very different versions of this reflection appeared in November 2014 and 2017.

PHOTO (and info on the NASA/SpaceX collaboration, Resilience): 

https://www.nasa.gov/press-release/nasa-s-spacex-crew-1-astronauts-headed-to-international-space-station/

The SpaceX ISS Docking: 

https://www.washingtonpost.com/technology/2020/11/16/spacex-crew-dragon-docking-iss-live-updates/?outputType=amp

More about how docking with the ISS works:

http://www.howitworksdaily.com/docking-with-the-iss/

_________________________

Join us Friday morning on Zoom for DaySpring’s Lectionary Breakfast. We start at 8:00 and dance our way through the scriptures ahead of Sunday’s sermon. 

Let me know if you want to attend. I’ll send you the Zoom link and tell our gatekeeper to let you in. 

NOTE: Zoom allows you mute the camera if you don’t wish to be seen and to mute the microphone if you don’t wish to speak. 

Blessings,

Steve

SCRIPTURES FOR THE COMING WEEK

Find them here: https://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu//texts.php?id=170

Ezekiel 34:11-16, 20-24

Psalm 100

Psalm 95:1-7a

Ephesians 1:15-23

Matthew 25:31-46

(November 22, 2020) Twenty-Fifth Sunday after Pentecost

REIGN OF CHRIST Proper 29 (34)